Mr. Shakes was in a car accident this morning. Aside from a sore back, he's fine, thank the fates, but our only car isn't. He was cut off by someone who ran him up onto the curb and into a pole, a someone who just zoomed off, leaving us with the bill.
I've just passed a year of being unemployed since getting laid off, so we're totally broke and will have to submit the bill to our insurance. Of course, there's the deductible we'll need to pay first, god knows how, before they jack up our premiums.
The shittiest part of all this? We'd just received a notice that our premiums were about to go down because we hadn't been in an accident in years.
Actually, that's not even true. The shittiest part of all of this is that Mr. Shakes feels terrible about what happened, that he feels desperately guilty and there's nothing I can say or do to make him feel better at the moment. I can't console him, because his mind has seized on it being Christmastime, when being sad and struggling and worried seems ever so much worse.
And meanwhile some asshole who was in such a hurry, such a damn careless hurry, caused this accident and then couldn't even be bothered to stop, and he'll never give it a second thought. Happy Fucking Holidays.
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